last night a tiny bird
black ruffled feathers
bright eyes wide
in fear, hope and pleading
in cupped palms
trusted me

am pausing a while - I have moved, moved house and home, and am trying desperately to get things on course for revamping my website with new pics as well as sewing new orders…

may post randomly, but not frequently…

www.bme.com 

the cry raised by a woman
turns a ritual into an aching emptiness
beautiful as though a fall
where darkness clothes the inevitability of pain
and dresses it with blood veined petals
and rest evades
her
so much harder to remove the stone from her shoe
than to drive a chisel to her flesh
each piece an agnus dei

I have a hundred flowers, a hundred flowers that do not fade
the flesh filled orchid
the velvet sinking rose
the heady gillyflower
all are there, of course, but there too
the teeth of Venus
the musk of haw
the spire of the snake lily
and, turning, I find infinite softness:
the magnolia’s bed
the honeysuckle’s dew
the daisy’s plenty
A hundred flowers you have given me; all, ever bright, bedeck my soul.